


One Night With Lucius Malfoy

by Lady_Frija



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, One Night Stands, One Shot, PTSD suggested, Repentant Lucius, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 21:26:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16751758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Frija/pseuds/Lady_Frija
Summary: Hermione Granger is trying hard to escape the memories and trauma of the wizarding war. Who should she meet on her late-night bar excursion but none other than Lucius Malfoy? She battles her demons, her anger towards him and this odd uncomfortable attraction between them. How will the night end and just how much has the war changed the allegedly “former” Death Eater? Can our witch and wizard find healing with each other?





	One Night With Lucius Malfoy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone. Well, this is my first fanfiction. A short, quick, and lemony one shot that I did just for fun. It might seem a bit unpolished in the plot, you might feel it moved too quickly and that there was not enough transition, so if that bothers you I apologize. Like I said, it was just something I dabbled in for some fun in my free time, but I am considering turning it into a full-length fanfic, but I am not sure. If I do, I will bust out a new can of polish, I promise. So, in the meantime, I give you this meager offering. I hope you enjoy my little attempt at storytelling. Happy Reading!

# One Night With Lucius Malfoy

<https://ladyfrija.tumblr.com/post/187130903175/one-night-cover-art-fanfic>

Hermione Granger had never been one to drink to excess.

Then again, there were many things she had “never been one to” and so, here she was, contemplating a number of those things as she indulged in yet another rum and coke. It was a decidedly muggle drink. One that earned her a raised eyebrow of confusion from the barkeep. There was no such thing as pop in the wizard world, at least not as a muggle would understand it. So, what she ended up with was some fizzy, syrupy concoction dosed heavily with a plain rum that was as close to the simple drink as she was likely to get. 

The pub was small, rustic, quite a bit off the beaten path, in a small village she had never even heard of until today. Everyone knew her name, but perhaps here they would not recognize her face. And so, desperate for a respite and retreat, but not wishing to return to the muggle world that held nothing for her any longer, she had come here. Thus far the plan had worked. The barkeep, concise and brisk as he had asked what he could do her for, barely even looked up from his tasks. It had been slightly crowded when she arrived, an empty seat at the counter the only space she could find, and she happily disappeared into the din and hum of the busy pub.  


But she had been here too many hours, lingered over her drinks too long, and slowly the crowd peeled away, the noise lessened, the activity quieted, and she was left with the sound of a few scattered conversations, the tinkling, clinking sounds of charmed dishes and glasses cleaning themselves behind the counter and the crackling of a generous fire in the large stone fireplace. 

Pleasant… but not quite enough to drown out the cacophony of her own thoughts…

The heat from the fire mingled with the warmth from the alcohol and she pulled off her warm, knitted grey cardigan, revealing the simple, sleeveless black dress that hung from her shoulders comfortably. Crossing her long legs, Hermione took another swallow, the dizzying buzz she was sporting dulling the taste decidedly. 

But she wasn’t drinking it for its flavor.

Maybe she should upgrade to firewhiskey. The mixed drink was taking far too long to do the job. The thought flitted across her mind briefly before she shoved it away. That was one ‘never been one to’ that she wasn’t keen on testing. She didn’t think she could manage that particular taste...

But perhaps it would be worth it. To attain that level of nothing that she so desperately sought, it might be worth the unpleasantness. If the burn could sear away the memories, the heartache, the disappointment, she might bear it…

“Excuse me.” She chimed wearily but politely at the barkeeper. “A firewhiskey please.”

The stout, balding barkeeper nodded once, not even looking up from the change he was counting and poured the drink quickly to slide it across the counter to her. She pushed the sweet, half finished beverage away from her, and took the new, chilled glass of amber liquid in her slender fingers. She coughed and gasped quietly as the searing drink touched her tongue, but she took another swallow. Tears from coughing stung her eyes, and she took a deep breath, hoping that sadder more genuine tears would not join them. Another swallow, with another wish that she could somehow drown the memories, the lost childhood, the loss of her parents, a lost love and far too many years of nightmares, strain and death…

“Don’t breathe in so soon after you drink it. The oxygen only heightens the sensation…”

The low, almost bored drawl, was entirely familiar to her, as was the chill that went up her spine at the sound. She turned her head to her right, already knowing who she would see. Blocked from her view before by the patron between them, he was now visible to her, if not slightly shadowed by the wall. Like the shadow dwelling demon that he was, he had chosen the farthest darkest corner to occupy available. Perhaps, like her, he had desired to retreat, hide himself from people who would know him. But she recognized him of course. How could she not? She might _almost_ not, if it weren’t for his lengthy, pale blonde hair, tied back at the base of his neck and memorable face and voice, he appeared otherwise very different. The fine, dark outer robes she had remembered him wearing were not on him, instead only crisp, clean, but simple dress trousers, and a black under shirt. The sleeves of said shirt rolled up and she noticed him leaning on his left forearm, holding a tumbler of his own, hiding the telltale dark mark. She did not even see his usual serpent headed walking stick nearby. But she was assuredly looking at the imposing figure of Lucius Malfoy, his icy, piercing eyes meeting her own warm, honeyed brown. 

“… that is if it’s a sensation you wish to avoid.” He finished. “Personally, I prefer the pain…”

Hermione found herself at a loss for words and a quick bite of anger lanced through her. Lucius bloody Malfoy talking to her in a pub, on a mundane Friday evening, as if it were the most normal thing… She laughed sardonically, hardly able to believe such a turn of events. Here she was, attempting to outrun the chaos, the regrets, the thoughts and the nightmares, and she would run into a man who embodied so much of that in a very tangible way…

“Of all the people, in all the pubs in all the towns…” she breathed, looking away in exasperation.

Far from being chastised, he snorted and took another swallow of his own drink. “Interestingly, I was thinking the same thing.”

“Oh, were you?” she spat, venom dripping from each syllable. The more she looked at him, the more she thought about it, the angrier she became. After everything he had done in service to Voldemort, here he was, free, walking around bold as could be.

_Or not so bold perhaps._ … Hermione raised an eyebrow as she surveyed him. His eyes were steely and cold, but there was a shadowed weariness in them even 4 years after the end of the war. Rather than a proud, arrogant presence, he sat with a posture of defeat. 

“Then feel free to go elsewhere.” She finished dryly, turning away from him and taking another swallow of the firewhiskey and doing her best to suppress a grimace. “Merlin only knows why the Wizengamot is actually letting a bastard like you walk free among _decent_ society.”

Oddly, he didn’t rise to her bait. Which only served to incense her further. A decade ago he might have tried to hex her into oblivion, probably for even daring to so much as speak to him… Now he just sat there. _She wanted a fight damn it!_

“By all means.” Malfoy droned sarcastically, with mocking, feigned interest. “Express yourself. Why so timid?”

She bristled at the comment. “You deserve every bit of scorn thrown your way Mr. Malfoy! And you actually have the gall to be surprised at it! So much that you’ve had to come here to hide from the public. What, without an inkling as to why you’re hated? Why I would be incensed?”

“On the contrary.” He intoned. “Given our… shared history, I hardly find your vehement opposition to my presence a surprise.”

A flush of fury rose to her already alcohol-reddened cheeks. “Shared history?” she asked sharply, her eyebrows raising incredulously. “ _Shared history?_ Is that what you call you allowing me to be tortured in your house, endangering my friends and helping to hand power to the most evil, foul, being to defile the planet?” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed the barkeeper pause in his drying of a glass, and when she turned her head towards the corner of the pub, a grizzled man and haggard old witch were staring at them, and hurriedly turned back to their drinks uncomfortably as they were caught watching.

Not the attention she wished to attract.

“Interesting terminology…” Hermione continued, lowering her voice.

Lucius Malfoy’s eyes flashed in what she assumed was anger as he downed the last of his drink. “You have every right to despise me… But I will bid you goodnight, Ms. Granger.” He drawled, rising from his seat and dropping several coins on the counter. “I came to escape the past, not relive it…”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak again but found herself devoid of words as he walked away, her interest piqued. So, he wasn’t here hiding from others, but himself? Could it be possible? The notorious Lucius Malfoy held a conscience behind those cold eyes? Or, she thought somewhat petulantly, did he merely regret failing in his ends?

Yes, she did have every right to despise him, she thought defiantly. Yet an uncomfortable feeling settled over her and she closed her eyes briefly with a sigh. Hermione stood unsteadily and turned towards his retreating back. “Wait. Stop, please… Come back.”

Whether it was her call for his return or the pleading and soft, please, that caught him off guard she didn’t know, but he did indeed stop and turn slowly towards her again, his eyebrow raised slightly in curiosity and surprise.  
Hermione gulped down her mortification at what she planned to say before raising her chin determinedly. “I’m… sorry.” She forced out. “Please, can… just… will you sit?”

Lucius hesitated a moment, his eyes narrowed in suspicion, before he walked slowly back to the bar, taking the chair directly next to hers as he watched her curiously. She took a deep breath and braced her hands on the counter for balance as she sank slowly into her chair again. _What am I doing?_ She admonished herself. The uncertainty was evident on his face as well. _Well at least we’re both confused._

A brief look of amusement crossed his face, and Hermione’s breath caught. She had never seen a look on his face quite like it. Not the viper like, calculating smile of years gone, but a genuine one. It was subtle; a brief warmth came into his eyes, and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly, and an odd sensation trailed up her spine. If he _was_ a devil, he was a handsome one... 

“And are you planning to enlighten me then?”

Another cold grip of mortification washed over her like a hateful dementor, sudden and palpable. “Oh my God, that wasn’t in my head was it?” 

Hermione buried her face in her hands, the flush in her cheeks now from embarrassment. “I just meant… What I should have…” she dropped her hands on the counter with an exasperated huff. “I’m not usually this… this…”

“Ineloquent?” came the quick supply,

Hermione turned to him once more, and her heart skipped a beat at the slight, brief warmth that had now turned to a mischievous sparkle. Her mouth felt dry and she swallowed hard before speaking. “Yes… I… hmm.”  


She leaned on the counter on her elbow, regarding him thoughtfully. He in turn, regarded her with placid and even patient curiosity. She was not sure what to say… speechlessness was something else she wasn’t usually one for. She had much to convey but her tongue remained stubbornly tied. For a moment, only the muted conversations around them, and the crackling fire filled the otherwise quiet ambience.

“Why are you here?” she finally asked.

He looked taken aback, and turned away from her, tapping his glass for the barkeeper to refill. “A bit of a personal inquiry isn’t it? I… fancied a drink.”

“Well, a lot of your assets were confiscated but you’re still a wealthy wizard, patriarch of an old family, with his own mansion, numerous properties… you couldn’t find a drink somewhere closer to home?”

He looked back at her and scowled slightly. “You’re very direct, Ms. Granger.”

She shrugged and met his glare head on. “No use piddling about with extraneous details, now is there?”

His jaw tightened, and a fair bit of fire leapt in the wizard’s eyes and Hermione felt a bit of self-satisfaction. Yes, some good “back and forth” verbal sparring would do her well… even if it was with Malfoy… Anything to shake this horrible numbness she felt cursed with.

“Draco has assumed ownership of the manor, as is traditional when an heir marries. And I gave my wife the French villa when she left me.”

Hermione had not expected such a confession and it quite took the wind from her sails. “So where do you live?”

His gaze moved to her briefly as he stared straight ahead behind the bar… “Why did you ask me to stay?”

Hermione bit the inside of her lip, her confidence slipping a little. “Oh… well, I…” Why _did_ she ask him to stay? Truthfully, she felt a little ashamed. Not that Lucius Malfoy had not done terrible things, or that she wasn’t correct, or that she had no reason to feel the way she did, or even that he didn’t deserve it… But… for whatever reason, for his defection, for their suffering, for their hesitation, for the help of his wife, for the insight they provided to catch everyone still on the lam (a long and exhaustive process), the ministry had chosen to overlook he and his family’s sins and give them another chance. And she, she reminded herself, worked for the ministry. It was a delicate time for the reformed Ministry of Magic… What would transpire if she were to cause a drunken scene in public? Her own reputation, Kingsley’s and the ministry would be tarnished. Not to mention Mr. Malfoy himself had been recruited by the ministry for… something, she had heard rumored in Rita Skeeters vicious diatribe of a column. It wouldn’t do to be caught accosting and berating him in public either… He was of course, not viewed anywhere near favorably by society at large… but the matter wouldn’t be helped by bringing attention to it, or his new/old involvement with the Ministry…

But how to convey any of that sensibly?

Though she had choked on the words, she had apologized to him. Offhanded though it was, it was more than he deserved, surely. But something in her made her feel compelled to elaborate.

Still… firewhiskey…

“I… Mr. Malfoy.” She began, blinking at the weary, sand-like feeling in her eyes. “There is no need to rehash the entirety of our…” she grit her teeth. “shared history… But like it or not, you are a free man in our small world. I hear rumor you are working for the ministry and so we must coexist. Think of the optics if I were to berate you at every encounter. So… I…” she swallowed again, “ _apologize_ , for my outburst, and will endeavor to better manage my… reactions.”

Just as he had sidestepped the issue of his living arrangements, he also sailed passed her mention of the rumor, not answering it one way or the other. Instead he motioned again for the barkeeper, this time, for coffee. Taking the mug from him, Lucius passed it to her. “Clearly you are not yourself.”

_And how would you know how I am when I am myself?_ She wanted to snap. But she bit her tongue. She was trying to be professional, she reminded herself. 

She acknowledged sheepishly, in her own mind at least, that her feeble attempt at drunkenness was foolish. She sighed and took the mug, as she did, her fingers brushing against his. She startled at his touch, surprisingly warm, as a soft tingling heat spread in her hand. How odd for such a small, unintentional touch to have such a consequence… Was she that starved for a human connection? 

Hermione gave herself a mental shake. She would not allow herself to be reduced to this. She took a sip of the coffee and determined to get ahold of herself. She wouldn’t be found trying to drown her sorrows and regrets and her loneliness in the corner of some pub. She wasn’t going to risk her job, her reputation, risk showing up in the gossip pages in the Prophet. All for the sake of foolishly, impossibly, illogically, trying to outrun the…

“ _Memories._ ”

Hermione looked up in surprise at his voice, almost forgetting his presence, as deep in thought as she was. “What?”

“You asked why I came.” He reminded her. “Memories…I…” he hesitated. “There are too many of them… Everywhere I turn. So, I… thought to search for somewhere where… there were none. Where perhaps I could… forget.”

She had turned too quickly in her surprise and she was suddenly very aware of her knee lightly pressed against his thigh. She shuddered at the brush of fabric, the unyielding of what muscles she could feel. His body heat reached out to grab her like a vice and her breath caught again. He moved, but not away from her, but towards her, and the friction renewed as she felt his body flex. When he had faced her fully, he gave an odd double take, seeming to search her eyes for something, studying her face as if intrigued…

Her lips parted in a silent gasp as she anxiously wondered what exactly he could see written on it…

_Oh God._

A panther-like smirk flitted across his lips, and something ignited behind his eyes. She fought for breath to keep it from coming in ragged pants as warmth spread through her body. Not from liquor, or anger or embarrassment… 

From desire.

It came over her strongly, as her tired mind began to conjure up images. Insane, improper, unthinkable images. Time had worn him down, but he was very much a wizard in his prime, age not diminishing his powerful and undeniably male features. She let her eyes view him discreetly, his now smoldering eyes, strong jaw, broad shoulders, flat abdomen and tall figure. An ache settled deep in her body as she took in his form…  


She met his eyes again and a shudder ran through her. He had noticed her appreciative appraisal and his face was set like stone, and she could not read him. But then, slowly, he reached out a hand. She knew she should back away, but she remained frozen as his fingertips brushed against her cheek bone, as he pushed an errant tendril of her hair out of her eyes. “And what are you running from tonight, Ms. Granger?” 

His voice was nearly a purr and the ache intensified, panic washing over her.

No. This was crazy. She had to get away. This was Lucius Malfoy, pureblood supremacist, former death eater of Lord Voldemort. She took a hasty step back, off the stool and away from the wizard before her, but her senses were not yet with her. And so, as her foot caught in the rung of the stool, off she pitched helplessly towards the floor.

But Malfoy’s strong arm lashed out and caught her around the middle, pulling her back up towards him. Immediate and unbidden, heat sliced through her chest and into her belly. Her breasts tingled where they were pressed against the hard wall of his chest, his steadying hand at her back and across her hip.

A new thought flitted through her mind. Mad. Inconceivable. She tried to shove it down…

“You should have let me fall.” She said breathily.

“Hmm. Yes, but think of the optics.” He said quietly, his eyes darkening. “I can see the Prophet headline now. Death Eater Lucius Malfoy accosts Hermione Granger in local pub.”

The heat she'd been feeling pooled languidly at the sound of his deep, rasping voice, the painful ache in her body settling between her legs. She laughed low in her throat at his comment, her breath catching again as his gaze travelled across her face, to her lips and briefly down her front, and she felt exposed completely to his view.

Firmly, but with barely noticeable hesitation, he set her on her feet and leaned away from her. The heat and ache remained yet she felt oddly bereft.

Yes, madness, indeed.

She took a step towards him, and he looked up with an expression of suspicion again. She met his eyes confidently. She had not imagined his reactions. She was not the only one with this inanity on her mind. She was not the only one affected. His eyes still burned, and she noticed his hand twitch briefly, reaching towards her slightly before he thought better of it. Seizing the moment, she reached out and grasped his hand. She expected him to recoil, thought he might shove her away, but he froze, his eyes flicking downward to watch curiously as her hand slid from his and travelled slowly up his arm. Hermione closed the distance between them, and she was barely a hands breadth away from him. She could feel the heat radiating from his body as her hand drifted further downward from his shoulder, over his abdomen and stopping just at his waistline. 

He remained infuriatingly composed. But she saw his chest heave with deep, measured breaths and though his face was intent, his voice steady, his eyes were hazy with desire as he looked back up at her. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation somewhere more… _private?_ ”

The breath left Hermione’s lungs. She should say no. She should make some excuse, some apology, remove her hand from his warm, firm body and leave. But her feet remained rooted to the spot. She had not had nearly enough to drink to blame it on inebriation, so she was clearly out of her mind. She didn’t know what she was doing, what she was getting herself into… but what she did know is that Lucius Malfoy, dark side or no dark side, was an insanely attractive man and she was unequivocally turned on.

“If that is what you want?” he raised a questioning eyebrow as he looked at her.

Suddenly, this thought, this fantasy became all too real. Perhaps it was the heated breakup with Ronald, the adrenaline of the memories and nightmares of years gone by that had only seemed to worsen, the shock of seeing a man she once considered an enemy so suddenly, or the raw, undeniable desire coursing between them… whatever it was, it was all converging violently and overwhelmingly… And she wanted to disappear into this moment and throw caution and care to the winds… 

She shouldn’t feel this way… Her hands shouldn’t be itching to reach out and touch him. Her frame shouldn’t be quivering with want. Her heart shouldn’t be pounding with desperation and her body shouldn’t be thrumming with such primal sexual desperation. Not with _him._ Not with Lucius Malfoy. Whatever cause it, his undeniable attractiveness, the basic primal maleness of him, the taboo of what she wanted, _she_ Hermione Granger wanted from an elite Death Eater. The forbidden nature of the liaison, or the element of danger and life-threatening foolishness being alone with him was… Whatever brought it on, for once in a very long time;

She felt _alive._

Her heart was racing, her breath catching, her blood burning. Yes, she was here, alive, and feeling. And she desperately wanted to reach out and seize the sensation while it lingered.

“I want to forget…” she confessed aloud in a whisper. “I want to feel.”

Something broke behind Malfoy’s eyes, and his jaw tightened visibly. “Barkeeper.” He said briskly, his eyes never leaving hers as he took another several coins from his pocket and laid them on the counter. “A room.”

The barkeeper took the coins and tossed him a key unceremoniously. Without a second thought he pulled her along behind him as he advanced towards the stairs, and she, bewildered and hardly believing her own foolish thoughts, followed.

They had only just gotten into the dark stairwell, when she felt his hand at her wrist roughly. A bite of fear gripped her as he turned her around and with his hips pressed her into the wall firmly, her wrist held above her head, his other hand pinning hers to her side.

“Are you quite sure of this Ms. Granger?” he growled.

The feel and smell and sight of him was overpowering. His distinctly male presence and smoky, minty cologne assailed her senses, his eyes burned into hers, his breath coming in ragged waves. The fear evaporated, replaced by an all-consuming need. She responded by pressing her hips against his, feeling the undeniable warmth and hardness of his arousal through the fabric of their clothing. 

She heard his breath catch, and he released her immediately, his hands leaving her wrists and coming up, one at the back of her head and the other around her back as he dragged her to him, his lips crashing against hers. She could taste firewhiskey and tobacco and…him. She couldn’t help a small whimper from escaping and he groaned in response, his grip tightening as he pulled her up the stairs, his lips never leaving hers. She stumbled but he held her tightly, their bodies pressed together, her fingers already working at the buttons on his shirt, his hands roaming down her hips, and pulling up at her skirt to splay his palm against the bare flesh of her thigh. 

The passionate violence, the desperate determination with which he held her dizzied her. And she thought perhaps he needed what she needed. To feel.

He parted from her only long enough to fit the key in the lock of the heavy wooden door and they rushed inside the small but brightly lit room. Hermione staggered away from him as he let go suddenly, shutting the door behind them with a sharp snap. He waved his hand with a quietly muttered silencing charm before advancing towards her slowly like a beast on the hunt, the broad planes of his chest visible under the parted neck of his shirt. 

Hermione was gasping for air, her body on fire with anticipation. As he joined her again, his hands roaming her body, her hand loosened his long, pale hair from its confine, while the other continued pulling at the buttons of his shirt. She groaned in frustration, popping them off with a sharp tug, the button clinking across the wood floor as she freed the shirt from his waistband, finally shoving it off his shoulders as his own hands had already undone the zipper at the back of her dress. 

She felt the soft fabric slide from her body and in a moment, she was standing before him in her bra and panties… Painful need drummed through her and she was practically panting for him as he kissed her again, the hand not gripping the back of her head roaming over the soft swell of her bottom and hips. Hermione whimpered softly again as his fingers slipped beneath the lace of her panties and tugged them down deftly. He growled against her lips, and once he had freed her from them, his hands came up to work at her bra. Desperate to feel his hands on her, she shrugged out of the straps, letting the piece fall to the floor with the rest of her clothing. She gasped and moaned as his strong hands kneaded her breasts while his lips and teeth nipped at the flesh behind her ear. Shiver upon shiver rushed through her, the ache between her thighs growing painfully as she occupied herself with undoing his trousers and pushing the rest of his clothing off and onto the floor.

Lucius stepped out of the garment as he lifted her into his arms. She thrust one hand through his long pale hair, the other hand resting against his face and travelling across his broad, bare shoulders. He moved them to the bed… or she assumed. She hadn’t even looked around the room to know where anything was… He laid her down somewhat roughly and she bounced slightly as he dropped her onto the mattress. She looked up, her legs splayed apart wantonly as she leaned up on her elbows, waiting for him to join her. 

He didn’t leave her waiting long. She flushed as his gaze swept down the length of her appreciatively. His chest was heaving, his normally cold eyes on fire. His desire was obvious, and she gazed at him with equal appreciation. The fire from the nearby heart and the sconces on the wall cast an otherworldly glow over his godlike figure. Faded scars drifted and winded across his body giving him a more dangerous look. Finally, after just a moment he knelt on the bed beside her and braced his hands on each side of her shoulders.

Then her eyes saw it. There on his left arm, faded but very much visible. The Dark Mark, and the reality of the moment came barreling through her mind… 

Lucius looked at her, his expression hardening as he noticed the object of her interest. “This was a mistake.” He hissed, turning over, away from her, and reaching for his clothing.

“No.” Hermione said, reaching out and seizing his arm as he sat up.

He stopped and looked back at her. She took his arm and gently turned it over, so she could see the mark and he watched in confusion as she traced the mark with her finger. She looked up at him, her eyes bright wit unshed tears, tears she stubbornly refused to let fall. She turned her own arm up, exposing the bare flesh of her forearm and held it next to his. His expression turned even more stony as his own eyes found her scar. Mudblood was still scrawled in her skin. Faded with time, white letters against her pale body. 

“I want to forget. All of it. For one night, I want to forget.”

His eyes met hers once more as he turned back hesitantly, and he took a shallow silent breath, searching her face for… something. He said nothing, so Hermione found herself wondering what he thought of that scar. Did he regret it? Did it remind him of how inferior he thought her kind to be? They had been swept up in a moment of desire, passion overriding their sensibilities… But now with a moment of clarity, would he recoil from her as she knew she should be recoiling from him?

But to her surprise, he reached out again. Gentler this time, he pulled her into his body, her arms coming up around his neck. He turned into her, all thoughts of leaving gone. And she wondered if he wanted to forget too…  
Lucius pushed her back onto the bed and she trembled with anticipation.

His body moved over hers and he drew in a sharp breath as she wrapped her long legs around his waist. She pushed all thoughts of the Dark Mark, of the War, of her very own name, out of her mind. She was not Hermione Granger, and this was not Lucius Malfoy. They were a man and a woman surrendering themselves to the moment. No past, no difference… She focused on the feel of him. The scent of him. She twined her fingers in his hair, threw back her head as his lips caressed her throat, his palms travelling up her sides and teasing her breasts. 

She cried out softly as he pressed himself against her center, and she felt the molten, steely hardness of his manhood nestled between her legs. His lips returned to her throat, drifted down to her breasts and her eyes closed reflexively at the heady sensation of his mouth over her nipple as she arched up into him.

Her sigh of contentment became a keening moan as his large, strong hand slipped between them, stroking and kneading her. She was hot, wet and ready for him, and he groaned with the full knowledge of her blatant, unrestricted desire…

Hermione gripped his shoulders tightly, moaning and gasping with this new and delightful feeling, her body being manipulated gloriously by a man skilled in his ministrations, her knees tightening against his hips. Lucius broke his kiss and met her eyes, eyes she was sure were hazy with need. 

She moaned, arching against him again as his hand continued to stroke her, pleasure and tension beginning to coil in her belly and the throbbing between her thighs intensifying… “Oh Lucius…”

He straightened, his face near hers once more and he covered her lips with his briefly and she saw a look of bewilderment cross his expression. “Say it again.” He breathed.

“W-what?” she asked, dizzy and flushed.

“My name.” he commanded firmly. “Say it again.”

She smiled softly, as he kissed her again, his tongue exploring hers, his hand continuing its delicious torment. She pulled back only a little. “Lucius…” she whispered, her hand laying against his face.

He smirked rather wickedly, his hand moving away from her center and replaced by… oh!

“ _Lucius!!_ ” she shrieked, throwing back her head in expectation and ecstasy as she felt the hardness of his arousal pressing into her body and desperate to feel him fully. “ _Please!_ ”

His hands gripped her hips, holding her steady, and with a primal groan he thrust himself inside of her. Hermione gasped and cried out with abandon, her eyes screwed tightly shut against the sudden onslaught of pleasure his delightful invasion had wrought. She was more than ready for him and he glided into her easily. She tightened her legs around him as he moved within her, her breasts pressed against his chest, her hands gripping his body as if the feeling might vanish if she let him go.

Hermione lost all sense of time as he slid from between her thighs and plunged into her over and over, swept up in the sensations washing over and through her body, light pulsing behind her eyelids in agonizing enjoyment…

“Look at me.”

She heard his voice and obeyed, opening her eyes, taking in the stormy, heated look on his face in awe and nearly coming right then and there. Her lips were parted with each gasping breath and she clutched the sheets under her in her hands. She moved with him, meeting his thrusts, smiling in satisfaction as his grip tightened, and his breath came faster with each powerful stroke. He was pressed against her perfectly, caressing her innermost places with delightful precision…

“Hermione…” he gasped, almost questioningly.

“Yes.” She moaned, “Yes, please… Please, Lucius…”

He laid his forehead against her shoulder, his thrusts coming quicker and stronger. The teasing, overwhelming pleasure he had been simmering and stoking, began to wind higher as he plunged into her again and again, his hot, hard flesh filling her deliciously. Her heart pounded wildly, almost painfully, and she felt his body begin to tense. His jaw tightened against her breast and he groaned her name again, her moans giving way to sharp, desperate cries as all at once, the tension broke over her in a torrent of blinding ecstasy. She screamed out his name once more, arching up to press against him fully and draw him deeper, her body quivering and fluttering, her muscles clenching around his manhood. Her vision swam, her ears pounded with the rushing sound of her blood pounding through her body, and somewhere in the blurry din she heard him shout as his own shuddering release came over him and felt his body jerk over hers as he emptied himself into her. 

As he stilled within her, Hermione collapsed against the bed, gasping for the breath that he had effectively stolen. She felt him pull out of her and she shuddered harshly. Lucius fell weakly beside her, his body shaking as much as her own as he stared up at the ceiling. Slowly, she began to come back to herself, overwhelming pleasure giving way to a tingling, sleepy contentment. But a bite of embarrassment and uncertainty threaded its way into her satisfaction as she chanced a glance at him. Hermione thought she might see regret etched on his face. How surprised she was to see a faraway look of contemplation.

Lucius must have felt her eyes on him and he turned. A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips and they laid still in the silence. He didn’t move, and neither did she, both lost in their own thoughts. Hermione felt like she had sold her soul to the Devil for a moment of bliss, but as she basked in the afterglow of their union, she decided it was a transaction she would happily repeat. And she wondered what she had done… what the consequences would be from her one night with Lucius Malfoy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thus concludes our short tale. I hope you enjoyed it. I am currently working on an outline for a full length HG/LM fanfic, different from this one. So if I do turn this into a full story, it will be sometime out in the future. My problem is I have too many ideas :) Hope to see you soon with a brand new tale for your entertainment and enjoyment. Vér sjáumst!


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